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First published January 1, 2017
The hotel was expensive and looked out over a park, and it occurred to him for the thousandth time that if he hadn’t spent time on Earth, he might not know the difference.
She liked the sharp, cold of rain on her uncovered head. By the time she reached the stairs of Bowling Green Station, the dull wasteland of the day had somewhat dissipated, burned off by the cold and rain and lights, the evening acquiring a certain momentum. An uptown train was arriving just as she reached the platform, and she stepped aboard with the feeling of being involved in some pleasant choreography, but then the train reached Union Square, and all momentum came to a halt.I’m a confirmed fan of this writer and somehow none of this sounded like her at all. Rambling and repetitive, with the occasional awkward phrase or cliché (“she downed the last of her scotch”) as well as a bit of confusion - - the whole thing read like a first draft. The three interlinked sections were complete in themselves, but I think we were told too much and there wasn’t anything left to figure out for ourselves. Enjoyable short story but not very memorable.